Chapter 6

“And I’m Robert Richards, incidentally. Formerly, First Sergeant, Vermont Mountain Guards. I was captured by the Army of Northern Virginia at Cold Harbor back in 1864. I escaped from Libby Prison in early 1865, since Lincoln stopped the prisoner exchange. Talk about your hellholes. I was found by a certain member of this pack who was down that way for some reason. I owe Bonnie quite a debt, even if she says otherwise,” the next member of the pack introduced himself to me, making it very clear that werewolves really were omnisexual.

“Hey, I avoided that path for much of the 1850s, but when the war started, I wanted to help out the Union as much as I could. The sooner that the Confederacy lost, the better, in my eyes. Especially after the Emancipation Proclamation. The more territory the North took from the South, the more slaves were set free. That was reason enough for me to do my part, even as a wolf, which I usually was when doing that work. Nate was often with me, not always. He had other duties, too. I could cover a lot of ground as a wolf, amazing how much! And your only debt is to the pack, not to me,” Bonnie insisted now before giving Robert a sweet peck on the cheek.

“You were fighting for her freedom, too, after all,” I pointed out to Robert.

“That’s what I’ve told him, too. He’s repaid any debts to me ten times over by what he’s done since, but also for wearing the blue, or the green in this case. The Mountain Guards wore green uniforms in honor of Ethan Allen and the Green Mountain Boys. Did you know that Vermont abolished slavery in 1777, thirteen years before they even joined the Union? Three years before Massachusetts did, in fact, and not by a court order as with them. By a proviso in the Vermont Constitution,” Bonnie bragged on the original home state of the pack from before it moved to Arizona.

“And this is my moon-mate, Moira, came here from Belfast in 1884, ran afoul of the local ward boss, and a few other folks. She was a lady of the night at the time,” Robert pointed to a lovely woman with a milky complexion, a fine bosom, and chestnut hair.

“Meaning that I was a whore. No need for euphemisms with this ... neophyte. I have the feeling that harlots don’t bother him at all. Which is as it should be,” Moira still blushed in spite of her own principles ... the baggage of her Catholicism still lodged in her subconscious.

“Doesn’t trouble me at all. And you would be?” I asked the next person around the table while digesting my cheesecake and Captain Morgan.

“Leonid Goldman, originally from Simbirsk, Russia. Vladimir Lenin was one of my neighbors growing up. Only he was called Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov at the time and his main claim to fame was that his elder brother had been executed as a terrorist. This is my moon-mate ... and also my stepdaughter. Tatiana Komarova. Long story on that, but suffice it to say that I didn’t leave Russia until 1917.

“When I heard that little Vladimir Ilyich was in charge, I knew two things: he was unstoppable and he was trouble. I already had served my time in the Tsar’s army, but Lenin was different. I knew him too well not to fear his rule. Any other new leader, capitalist or socialist, I might have given a chance, especially as a Jew who didn’t cherish the memory of the old regime and its anti-Semitism, its secret police, etc.

“I had married my slain comrade Nikita’s widow after I was sent home after Tannenberg Forest due to shrapnel in my arm. Well, she had a daughter, just turned fourteen, and we fled together, but her mother, she was betrayed to the Cheka, the Bolshevik secret police, but an envious fellow named Anatoly. She was... , “ Leonid clearly had trouble discussing it.

“Mama was executed by the Cheka. Papa and I barely made it. I call him Papa now, because Nikita, my birth father, was Father. I had ... basically two fathers. When we arrived in America, we somehow got lost in a crowd, got on the wrong train ... and before we knew it, we were north of Manhattan, Vermont of all places.

“We got separated ... and some fools were about to rape me, but ... someone ... rescued me ... It was Damon. In wolf form. The rapists didn’t stand a chance. They were torn to shreds. Of course, I was bitten, and when we ran into Papa again, I bit him. It was just ... instinct. The next thing that I knew, my stepfather and I were ... moon-mates. I haven’t regretted a thing to this day, other than the death of Mama,” Tatiana explained now, her affection for her stepfather not getting in the way of her lust for me.

“So ... you’re over a century old yourself, then ... wow, I must be the youngest person in this house! Well, the youngest ... man, given Rosa’s presence,” I chuckled at that thought, “and I look older than most of you.”

“You’re losing a lot of that age, as you’re noticed already, I’m sure. Demon wolves rejuvenate pretty fast as part of the process ... it varies from person to person ... and you can largely decide your outward appearance as a human if you wish.

“You’ve probably already seen that your hairline isn’t receding anymore, for instance. Your libido and upper-body strength are likely increasing exponentially, along with your senses of taste, hearing, and smell. Your agility should also be on the rise. Women who go through menopause see it reverse, becoming fertile again, as with ... Hannelore?” Damon asked now.

“That’s the neighbor lady that Frankie bit earlier today. During a threesome. Elderly woman, but I gather that she won’t be much longer. She didn’t ... act ... elderly, I can tell you that much. She was sexually very ... aggressive, even. Even before the bite. Frankie alluded to some kind of natural allure of some kind, a sort of innate attraction to the demon wolf. Swedish lady, by the way. Another ginger, like Danielle,” I commented now.

“Hannelore Lindstrom, to be precise. She was ... delicious!” Frankie licked her lips at that memory, only hours old.

“And Carlita ... Sanjuro, that’s your ex-fiancee. Do you have any ... affection for her left at all?” Danielle probed a bit with me.

“Yes, I do. We’ve had our problems, hence the break-up, but yes, she’s very ... intoxicating,” I put it mildly.

“Sounds like a prize recruit, if you ask me. My name’s Henryk Albert Van De Boer. Yes, that’s right. I am ... Frankie’s father. This is my wife, her mother. Giovanna. Also my moon-mate. We are, in fact, the only actual ... married couple in the usual sense here. We left South Africa together in 1954. We were done with apartheid. She was from Italian Somaliland, originally from Italy itself, but fled during the Second World War.

“We all nearly died from snakebite, but we were within earshot of these fine wolves on Long Island, of all places, and so we’re still alive. Care to guess how old your own moon-mate is? She was just fifteen when the snake escaped its cage and attacked us. In January of 1960. She had barely turned fifteen on New Year’s Day,” the next man informed me, causing me to turn and look at Frankie.

“Yes, I’m seventy-five years old now. Old enough to be a granny myself,” she blushed a bit, “but this little guy won’t care too much, I hope. Well, not so little, but you catch my drift.”

“Honey, you’re the hottest septuagenarian that I’ve ever met! I’m pleased that the snakebite didn’t kill you, of course. And your parents, of course. Another reason that we can’t legally wed. No one would ever think that you’re old enough to draw Social Security or use Medicare!” I noted.

“Yes, my surname is likely to remain Van De Boer, legally speaking, since I can’t change it without drawing too much attention ... but around here, I won’t act like Rosa with Federico. I have no reason to hold back. Around here, I’d like to be known as Frankie Topper henceforth. No offense to you, Mum and Dad, I assure you,” Frankie told her parents now.

“Oh, none taken, dear. I can see why you would want to ... attach yourself to him. Just know, Adam, that you’re family now. We’re all family now. All of us, blood or not. We’re a pack of demon wolves and a pack is always a family. Strangely, we haven’t added anyone in over half a century, but now it’s time again. Frankie’s longed for a moon-mate ... she’s tried so many times. Whoever she bit ... that person would be the next person added to the family, you see.

“Well, Frankie took her time, no harm in that ... and she found you. Think about that. Frankie was so selective about a possible moon-mate that she didn’t turn anyone for sixty years after she got turned herself, fifty-seven years of age after she turned eighteen, fifty-four years after she turned twenty-one. Then she found you ... and bit you almost as soon as she could. She went six decades without a moon-mate of her own, but now she has one. You. If that doesn’t make you worthy of being family, I don’t know what does,” Giovanna Van De Boer concluded with a kiss planted right on my lips.

“Well, this is my kind of family. I’m a social outcast to some extent. A nerd, a geek, a dork, whatever. A loner in the past. A misanthrope. I only used to let people in so that I could fuck them or something else like that. Otherwise, I kept my distance, from colleagues at work, neighbors up to a point, though I couldn’t be rude, especially with Mrs. Lindstrom. There was just ... something about her. Something different, you know. Carlita’s family never liked me much. I wonder why,” I chuckled as I kissed my mother-in-law ... with tongue.

“There’s a backstory to that. I’d love to hear that some time,” Damon responded to my words now.

“As would I,” Danielle added, the others nodding, too.

“Let’s just say that it’s part Edgar Allen Poe, part Charles Dickens, and a few other things thrown in. You see ... I wasn’t born Adam Topper. Myron Heidelman, that’s my true name, but don’t repeat that one. I deliberately chose a Dickensian name for a reason. I was just a nerdy little schmuck with a regular set of folks, not too good, not too bad, but mediocre, I suppose. That was most of my childhood and would have been fine ... except that Dad was well-off. Old money, you know. He didn’t brag about it. I don’t think that Mom ever fully knew the extent of the fortune.

“If my father hadn’t met with the business end of a baseball bat from my mother when I was sixteen. She cracked his skull in twelve places. No warning. No reason given at the time. She just snapped and waylaid her own husband with a fucking Louisville Slugger! She also hit him in the groin, but he was already dying when she did that. That was just to hurt him as he died.

“Overnight, Mom became a tyrant, vicious, mean, spiteful, even. There was no clear warning as to why or indicator as to how she changed so abruptly. It made no sense at all. She invited her friends over and went out of her way to humiliate me in front of them. She burned Dad’s body so that the cops would never find it and reported him as a missing person, threatening me with serious bodily harm if I told them the truth.

“She also forcibly circumcised me, just to reduce the pleasure from sex and masturbation. I was terrified that she would do worse, especially after that part. She even got her friends and ... Aunt Priscilla, involved in that. Her own sister. She would inspect my room for ‘dirty magazines’ and anything that I might use to jack off. Masturbation was strictly forbidden and forget sex of any kind, removing the chance of even decreased satisfaction in my life.

“Mom told me that her only regret was that she didn’t abort me instead of my sister, a sister that I never know that I ever had. She wished that she had saved the girl and killed the boy. She said that boys were evil, disgusting, vile, loathsome creatures who deserved as little pleasure as women could permit them. She said that their proper role in this world was to serve and protect women ... and to suffer pain without pleasure at their hands.